


Moving Lightly

by Starlithorizon



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, M/M, One-sided pining, Unrequited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-05
Updated: 2013-06-05
Packaged: 2017-12-14 02:18:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/831575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starlithorizon/pseuds/Starlithorizon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Despite the fact that John and Mary were engaged, despite the fact that John would never love him, despite everything, Sherlock stayed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moving Lightly

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this fic comes from the beautiful song "We Move Lightly" by Dustin O'Halloran. It does so because it's just so pretty, or something like that.

It was toxic, what he was doing. He knew it, too, and that was the worst part. It was venom in his veins. But still, he couldn't stop. This was careening into a sidewalk from the top of a hospital. It was injecting just a glimmer too much cocaine into the system. It was agony and dying and he did it willingly.

John smiled at the woman— _Mary, don't forget this one_ —and he ached. They had been together just over six months, falling into bed after the case with the pearls and whatnot. Now, they were _engaged_.

The word was bile in his mouth.

Sherlock, the fool that he was, stayed through all of this, because he loved John. He'd been an idiot, hiding from his own damnable emotions and allowing them to burn to the surface during the Years in Hell. They could have been so good together, but then, just a month after his resurrection, they received an email from a Mary Morstan and that was that.

She moved into 221B five months in, and Sherlock wanted to tear his hair out and scream. John stayed for him, and he stayed for John, and Mary was going to shatter Sherlock without even realising it. She was _nice_. She was _clever_. Damn it all, Sherlock liked her. He enjoyed her company. Even if seeing her with John put matching pits in his sternum and stomach.

He wanted to hate her. Oh, he _really_ wanted to hate her. He wished that she was stupid, or rude, or dull. She was none of those things, and he hated that he couldn't hate her. He couldn't help liking her, which made her especially awful.

The big, idiot detective with his big, idiot feelings, was falling to bits and pieces.

John and Mary continued swirling around him in blissful, loving ignorance. They invited him along almost every time they went out, and (fool that he was) he followed blindly more often than he could really bear. He joined them at dinner in restaurants with candles and soft romantic chatter. He sat beside John at the cinema, cringing when he heard Mary's soft giggles and John's hushed words of love.

It wasn't that Sherlock wanted to be where Mary was. Not quite. Their relationship was so gentle and kind, and if it was John and Sherlock together, it wouldn't be. There would be teeth and the meetings of strength and questions of "where do you end, where do I begin" and the big idiot wouldn't ever leave unless he was asked.

No matter how that thawed-out heart in his chest ached, he would stay until John told him to go.

Late at night, when Mary was tucked up into bed and they were just returning home from a case, it felt like it did Before. Before Mary, before the Years in Hell, before everything. They were laughing (albeit quietly, to avoid waking Mary) and breathless and full of Chinese food. The flopped down on the sofa together, legs tangling companionably, tired little smiles on their faces.

"That was amazing," John whisper-laughed, and Sherlock grinned. John had summed up nearly every case with those three words since the beginning, and it felt like home.

"I told you impersonating the professor would be easy," Sherlock rumbled, and they giggled over John's impeccable diction as Professor Able. Especially when he tore into that child for being rude to that little girl.

"Yeah, well, okay," John said around a huge yawn. He patted Sherlock's knee before struggling to his feet. "I'm going to go to bed now before I fall asleep out here. I suggest you do the same."

"Not tired," Sherlock said, voice petulant, upturned lips betraying him.

"Of course you're not. Night, Sherlock."

"Good night, John."

And with that, John went upstairs to where his fiancee slept, and Sherlock let his head fall back against the cushions, berating himself. John would never love him the way he loved Mary, and all he could do was accept it. Leaving was intolerable, as was asking them to leave. He could never make an effort to break them up (not like the last two girlfriends) because he could tell that John genuinely loved Mary, and she loved John. And, as he well knew, Sherlock actually liked Mary and was not entirely willing to make her leave.

He closed his eyes and soon, sleep descended, taking the forlorn creature away for the night.


End file.
